


Dances In Darkness - Book 7: Amell

by HigheverRains



Series: Dances In Darkness [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2018-12-01 05:36:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11479737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigheverRains/pseuds/HigheverRains
Summary: Her eyes lit with a dark anger, which rippled through her, desperation unlike anything she had felt before. For a moment, all she could hear was the pounding of her heart, the echo of her breath in the space. And then she made up her mind. She had no choice. It was do it or die.She reached for magic.BOOK 7 of the DANCES IN DARKNESS SERIESIt is recommended you read the rest of the series before reading this book. Previous events/characters will be mentioned.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nathaniel and his company arrive in Kirkwall; Anders deals with the beginnings of a dangerous plot; Sidonie is called to a meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: None
> 
> Comments always welcome! :)
> 
> ~Welcome to Book 7! Thank you for reading!~
> 
> Here's an early chapter release as I will be away until mid-next week and unable to post at the usual time. The next chapter will release a week from this upcoming Saturday as usual. Check [my site](https://higheverrains.tumblr.com) for the release schedule and for more content.

Fresh air. He could still feel the sting of the salt carried on the breeze against his face, but even he was willing to admit that after so long underground, there was a wonder to just being out at sea. The first time he had made the crossing, he had spent most of it bent over the rails, but by now, traveling abroad was a simple enough endeavour, and there were parts of him that had missed Kirkwall.

Nate stood along the prow of the ship, long hair catching in the breeze even where it was pulled back, waiting for the gangplank to drop down onto the familiar stone walks of the docks. There was the usual air of grim-faced getting-on-with-it about. He counted more Fereldans among their number now as well. All the same, Kirkwall had not much changed. It still felt grimy. It still felt real.

He thought of the papers tucked into his pocket, the letters of introduction of the new King and Queen of Ferelden, as well as an accounting from Sergeant Maverlies as to the situation within Kirkwall himself. His mission was threefold: manage the assassination attempts and establish diplomatic ties with Kirkwall personally, learn what he could of this strange thaig that had recently been uncovered, and find Anders. The last was his own personal mission, but Eideann had told him of it for a reason, and he would. He needed to.

Amgarrak had made him prioritize what mattered, and Anders still ranked very high on that list. Fereldan mattered, his work as a Warden mattered, and he mattered – what he wanted – what he needed. 

He needed Anders.

There was a wooden thud and the slap of a board against the stone as the gangplank fell into place. He heard a familiar gruff shout – Oghren meandering down the gangplank first with his axe at his back for all to see, Warden uniform a bit askew. One of Keenan’s new boys, an elf with family up in the Marchers, gave a soft sigh of relief, eager to be down on the shore himself. Nate reached for his bag, hauling it over his shoulder, his bow in hand, and took off down the walkway. 

Dry land felt a bit strange under his legs as he sank into a simple step. He had gotten too used to the rocking of the waves, and so he took it slowly, so he would not need to climb the steps too soon.

He considered, briefly, stopping by to see the Qunari, who were apparently housed further within the docks in a compound that the Viscount had quietly gifted them in the hopes they would just leave him alone, but thought better of it at the sight of armed guards. He didn’t want to speak to them anyway, even with Eideann’s suggestion that he should. There was something entirely off about their presence, and he did not like it.

 _That will prove trouble before long,_ he thought to himself with a soft sigh.

He gave it a wide berth instead, and headed for the steps, Oghren and the elf, Raz, in his wake.

In truth, there was an element of relief to it, of excitement. He felt more at home than he had in awhile, even with being back in Amaranthine. Kirkwall had taken him in when others had not, and he was eager to see old friends. Saemus had bid him farewell when he departed last, but there were others. He thought briefly to the rest of the nobility – and then he remembered that a fair few of them were harboring rebels who had tried to kill his Queen, in his father’s name, and his smile slipped.

No, it was not the same. It was not entirely different either, though. The scents and the sounds were still familiar, and even though there were more Fereldan accents in the bazaar as he cut through Lowtown and up towards Hightown, the place still served as a comfort. 

It would not be such to Anders, he realized, with a solemn little consideration. 

“Rich tossers up there,” Raz said suddenly, nodding up the steps. “Lieutenant, I’ll go see my sister, and find you upstairs later?” Nathaniel gave a small nod. It was best he make his introductions as best he could. Oghren had served in the Battle of Denerim, and his name would carry weight amidst the nobles because ofit, but in truth he was there to sway the Surfacer Kalnas. Nathaniel had already debriefed him on the strangeness of the thaig that had been found, and there was more than enough reason to believe that it was linked to the Merchant’s Guild one way or another. At the top of the steps, they parted ways, Oghren shuffling off into the crowd with a smirk to find the dwarven quarter and what news he could uncover. And that left Nate alone.

He had just about reached the Hightown Square when he heard a familiar voice, someone calling to him from across the way. It was bright, soft and cheerful, and one that he remembered singing the Chant instead of calling to friends, but he turned to catch it, and his eyes fell on the bold sight of a man in Starkhaven armor, a bow at his back. He stared a moment before giving a small little laugh of disbelief.

“Given up robes?” he grinned as the other man approached, reaching out his free hand to clasp the other man’s wrist in friendly greeting. “Sebastian.” 

“Arl Nathaniel Howe,” Sebastian said with a grin, welcoming and steady. “I was contemplating trading it in for a crown.” He looked him over, bright eyes like sapphires drinking in the sight of him, unchanged from days shooting at targets in the Chantry yard or the Viscount’s gardens. “We thought you were long gone from Kirkwall.” 

“I’m back on business, for my Queen.” At that, Sebastian’s smile faded. He fell into step as Nathaniel carried on towards the Viscount’s Keep, his volume dropping a little.

“Lord Harrimann is dead.” There was a quiet little moment between them, and then Nathaniel gave a nod

“I know.” He did not need to say more. Sebastian was a prince, and he could see the way the pieces had fallen. He reached for the railing of the steps and began to climb alongside Nathaniel, presenting a unified presence. 

“I will lend what support I can,” he said simply.”Starkhaven will stand with Fereldan, my friend, or at least its rightful Prince will. The Harrimanns were friends of my family, and I will see this wrong avenged.” Nathaniel gave a low sigh, then glanced to him, grey gaze quiet.

“One of the Silver Knights from Amaranthine was sent to investigate.”

“Yes, we were working in tandem with the Guard Captain Aveline Vallen. She served under King Cailan at Ostagar as a Captain, and remains a friend to Ferelden.” Nathaniel nodded his thanks.

“I should speak with her then.”

“Her efforts have been foiled at many levels,” Sebastian said in soft warning. “This matter is complicated, Nate. You know how foolish Kirkwall can be. The Viscount has been struggling to maintain his power, and with Hawke capitalizing on the Amell name, the balance has been knocked off kilter lately.” Nathaniel crossed the courtyard and up the last of the steps before pausing at the gate.

“We will meet again soon, my friend. You can tell me of this Hawke then.” Perhaps there was a matter for investigation there. He could not truly say. “I must make my presence known to the Viscount. Can I still find you at the Chantry?”

“Of course.” Nate reached to clap a hand against Sebastian’s shoulder and then gave him a nod.

“We will shoot some targets then, tomorrow, or the day after. In the meantime, it was good to see you.” Sebastian caught his hand, gave it a friendly squeeze, and then turned back, heading back down the steps and leaving Nathaniel to tend to himself at the Viscount’s gates. 

The idea that Dumar’s grip was slipping was not wholly unknown. He had expected as much, for his hold had always been weak, and the Blight had strained his resources, but the idea that he might be involved in recent events…well. That was simply a whole mess in and of itself. 

He considered that for the sake of impartiality and ease of maneuvering, it might be worthwhile to establish a compound for the Fereldan embassy, rather than rely on the hospitality of the Viscount as he had before. He had chambers at the Keep, but things were a far cry different now. He wondered exactly how he would manage to convince Eideann to purchase a house, but he could perhaps rely on Viscount Dumar’s hospitality for that. 

Something to consider, at least. 

The interior of the Keep was as busy as ever. He saw a few familiar faces, and made a few nods, but did not stop to speak with others. Not yet at least. There would be time for work of that matter later. For the time being it was enough to climb the last of the steps – so many bloody steps – to the offices of the Viscount, where he encountered the auburn-haired Seneschal, Bran Cavin.

“Ah it’s you.” Less than impressed then. “Come back begging?” 

“I’m here as a representative of the Fereldan Crown. Arl Nathaniel Howe of Amaranthine,” he said simply. “Move aside, Bran, I’ve got business.” For a moment there was a struggle, and then Bran’s will broke and he gave a sigh.

“I suppose I can make an exception for the representative of a foreign ally,” he muttered, moving aside and waving Nate through into the next chamber. Nate gave him a less than gracious nod. He and Bran had never seen eye to eye, with Bran assuming he was simply a drag on Kirkwall’s resources, and making no secret of his opinion, which he generally expressed through distaste and rudeness. Nate was hardly going to stand on ceremony with him now. He was saving his grace for the Viscount.

Dumar was surprised to be disturbed, sitting at his desk with his head in his hands, peering over letters sprawled across his desk. He looked up, and as he did so, Nate saw a tired man, drawn and weary, and a bit confused to see him. He blinked a moment, then pushed the papers away, his chair back, and himself up. 

“Nathaniel Howe?”

“Viscount Dumar.” He reached for the letters in his coat, drawing forth the one addressed to Dumar, introduction and proof of his office. Dumar took the paper a moment, breaking the seal and then unfurling it before catching sight of the name and heaving a sigh.

“Ah. I see.” He looked entirely exhausted. Nathaniel felt a flicker of sympathy, but it lasted only a moment. Viscount Dumar had a difficult job, but so did others, and where others might have stood firm, he had given in. Nathaniel had grown up in the world of shifting sands that was politics and nobility. He knew better than anyone that one either fought and survived, or one did not. Viscount Dumar had never been the sort of man who fought. He survived, but that would only last him so long. 

He gave a soft sigh as the Viscount set aside the letter and then looked to him.

“I suppose you’re here about that business of assassins then.” Well at least he did not have to go into the particulars. The Viscount already seemed more than aware of the issue itself. Nate just gave him a quiet nod. “So be it. I shall see to it you are introduced to the Captain of the City Guard. Will you be staying here.”

“I am here with a delegation,” Nathaniel said simply. “We shall establish a presence within Hightown, an estate, for the duration of the visit. Perhaps longer.” The Viscount made a faint little noise of protest, but Nate was not backing down. Instead he shifted gears. “How is your son?” There was a pause and then the badge of the office fell away, and the Viscount gave up the last vestiges of his mask, sinking back into his seat.

“I hope you might speak sense to him, my Lord,” he said simply. “You always were a good influence on my son, and a voice of reason. I hope that he does not…stray too far.” Nathaniel shifted his weight, sinking into the chair opposite the Viscount on the desk, and like that the dynamic had changed.

Nathaniel had spent much time at the Keep, and there had been times when the Viscount had proven a better mentor to him than his own father had ever been, though that itself was not difficult, and Marlowe Dumar was a poor father all the same. But if there was one thing that Nathaniel knew, it was that the Viscount loved his son, dearly. Saemus had been born after many years of trial and struggle for Marlowe and his late wife, when Marlowe was already starting to enter later years, and with the pressure of the Viscountcy pressing down on him. Marlowe loved his son, even though he made a poor father, and this was personal.

“What has happened?” Nathaniel asked, and the Viscount hung his head a moment.

“Meredith at my throat, Orsino at my heels,” he said, “and a city scared of heretical giants. Balance is held because the Qunari ask for nothing.” He sighed, looking up. “Saemus is known to be of a…lenient disposition.”

“Saemus and the Qunari?” Nathaniel narrowed his eyes, then drew a slow breath. “I might speak to him.” He could not change things, but if the leniency would gain him further friendship at court, that might help him find more about the assassins seeking to undermine Eideann and Alistair. A political favor of a sort then. He shifted, reaching for his bag, and then rose, giving a small bow of head. “In exchange, Viscount, I trust that you will endeavour on the behalf of my King and Queen in routing out those that would uproot their new reign.” The Viscount gave a sigh, but at last capitulated.

“So be it. Convince Saemus to behave, I beseech you, and I shall make my inquiries and position clear.” That was better than he had before, so Nate gave another little bow and then retreated back, turning about and letting himself out. 

He was met at the door by Seneschal Bran, who again looked less than impressed.

“Your chambers are being prepared,” the Seneschal said with distaste. Nathaniel considered, then raised his chin a little.

“I will find my bed elsewhere. If you could arrange for me to consider local townhouses for purchase, I will be happy to look over them this afternoon. In the meantime, I need to have words with your Guard Captain.” Bran, disliking taking orders, made an unimpressed moue, and then motioned him over the hall. 

“You know where to find the City Guard,” he said simply.

“Small houses, but fitting of the station,” Nate clarified, as Bran shifted away, and then he hitched his bag a bit higher, and crossed over the hall.

***

“What do we know?” Ander’s voice was solemn, coarse. He had left Evelina in charge of his clinic, but that did not make it easy to come and go unnoticed, and he was trying to lay low, all things considered. Being summoned made him nervous, and being summoned over significant trouble made him even more nervous that usual. 

Mistress Selby didn’t summon him for no reason. He summoned him because he actually had the opportunity to help, or because his services were needed. His work with the Mage Underground mattered to him, mattered to Justice, ever since Karl…

Well…

He stood now, in the warehouse, peering at the small gathering of people, one of which was an elven man in apostate robes who had a mop of mousey brown hair and a pale complexion that spoke of too many years running. Mistress Selby stood, expression dark, shaking her head at the question.

“We were trying to arrange an escape,” she said, “three of them at once, out the back tunnels. But things were getting desperate. They overstayed their mark, and never made the rendezvous.” The elf grimaced, expression dark.

“One of our people went by the Gallows to make a delivery – a boy who take cargo by boat. He saw two of them, branded.” Anders was quiet a moment, gritting his teeth. He felt something dark stirring inside him at that, and recognized it as Justice. He slowly eased it back, tried to let it all settle away. After a moment it drifted back.

“Is this the first time?” he asked after a moment. Mistress Selby scowled.

“I wish I could say it was. Twice before, we think, but we aren’t sure. It’s hard to say.”

“Does it appear to be because of the escape?” Apprentices trying to run may have turned up Tranquil, but not mages that had had their Harrowing. Anders knew many of those mages, had witnessed them before. It was not unheard of for mages to be transferred between Circles, for any number of reasons, and some had been at Kinloch Hold. He was concerned that there were others like Karl, others who had been Harrowed mages that had been made Tranquil.

“We cannot say, but after Karl…” Mistress Selby trailed off. It did not need to be said.

“Who is behind it? Do we know? Sketch?” He glanced to the elf who drew a slow breath, struggling a moment before raising his chin.

“I’ll look. Maybe I can get some names,” he said softly, but he sounded unconvinced. “It’s difficult enough as it is.” Sketch had a dubious background. Anders had only recently met him, but he was aware he had affiliations with the Mage’s Collective, but his true calling had been with Orlesian bards, and prior to that no one even knew. Sketch himself was certainly not wanting to share, and the fact he had eluded capture this long was a good mark for him. The fact he devoted that time to helping others made it even more important. 

Anders gave a quiet nod and then glanced away, trying to think.

“I can’t do much more,” he admitted. “I’m limited, after what happened with Karl…”

“Keep out of danger,” Mistress Selby told him. “You’re more a help to us as a healer than anything, Anders.” He gave a quiet little sigh, admitting that was true. Being a healer was still his calling, and it was still the way he was the most help, especially since he was a known face. 

“The Knight-Captain is from Kinloch Hold,” Sketch said simply. “If he gets one look at you, he’ll know exactly who he has in his clutches.” Anders did not need reminding. It made him solemn to consider it. 

The Knight-Captain had been only a regular knight back at Kinloch Hold. Cullen Rutherford. Anders remembered him as a bashful, dutiful if confused sort, a bit enamored with one of the other mages, Irving’s favorite Solona. He had never done Anders wrong before, but rumors out of Kinloch had made it clear that the fall of the tower had changed a great deal. Anders had not been there to witness it, and for that he was glad, but Cullen apparently had, and it had shaped him into a different sort of man from the one that Anders remembered. He no longer thought Cullen was quiet and meek and mild. Now he thought he was dangerous. The fact he had earned Meredith’s trust made Anders all the warier.

There was no other way about it – Kirkwall was ruled by the Templars. The Viscount had been instated by Knight-Commander Meredith and the Grand Cleric with the downfall of Viscount Perrin Threnhold, and it was rumored that his rise had not been by his own choice. In fact, he had only accepted by coercion, and remained miserable about it since. The real power lay with the Chantry, with the Templars. It did not escape him that it would do so again if tensions drew to a peak. If there was anywhere in the world that Harrowed mages could be branded as punishment, it was in Kirkwall, and he believed it did happen here. He knew it happened. 

It made it no better. 

Anders gave a soft sigh, then looked between them.

“I’ll be careful,” he promised. “You must be as well.” There was a quiet pause, and then he gave a nod. “I should go before anyone finds it strange that I am gone. Evelina…” 

“Of course. We shall leave messages with Lirene if we need to reach you,” Mistress Selby said simply before drawing back. Sketch gave him a small nod, and then drew back as well, following Mistress Selby with a ponderous look.

Anders retreated back out into the docks. He was halfway along them before he caught the snippets of rumors, visitors from Ferelden. He sighed, hoping he was not going to need to contend with Sergeant Maverlies again. He made a point to go into hiding, and took the back way back, sinking down through into the undercity by the sewer gratings in the back alleys alongside the warehouses where he would not need to wander up through Lowtown. 

He had avoided being seen since arriving. He had proven helpful to Sidonie Hawke, but she could barely defend herself with her new-claimed wealth, and he wanted none of that anonymity. They had spoken only a few times in the weeks since. He lived in a blocked off part of her basement, where he was safe enough from those who might come hunting, but they were mostly separate, and he was aware his presence was a difficult one for her to contend with. 

They had their disagreements as well. She had done all she would to help his cause, and he knew it, and did not push, glad that she had given him even a little, and angry he could not earn more. As for the brother…

He did not think they were speaking, not anymore. He did not entirely blame Sidonie for that. He would not be on speaking terms if his brother joined the Templars either. He ducked down through the nearest tunnel, adjusting his hood and scowling to himself at the thought. Back to being careful then, it appeared. Carver might turn him in himself, yet. There was more a threat there than appeared.

He had been relying on his role as a Grey Warden for the time being, the protection that Eideann and Alistair’s – it was Alistair who had stilled the Templar’s hands beforehand, he recalled – favor had granted. If they were making Harrowed mages Tranquil now…he could no longer guarantee that role was a protection. 

Back to hiding, back to concern. He felt Justice stirring and pushed him back down. _No, not now, not here,_ he thought. He needed the evidence first. 

Waiting for Sketch was the best move now. He carried along the Undercity until he reached the outlet to Darktown’s tunnels in the general vicinity of his clinic. For now it was best he kept his head down and out of trouble. There would be time for action, but not yet. The best thing he could offer for the moment was patience.

***

“Isabela, I said no.” The pirate gave a low, disgruntled hum. 

“It’s only a little bit of gold.”

“And you’re not getting any of it. I already bought you drinks when we out last night, and I’ve promised to help you get back that relic.” Sidonie crossed her arms, staring down the other woman whose honey gaze met Sidonie’s oxblood with a quiet little smirk.

“You live in a lovely big house now, Hawke…” she started.

“And have a lot of people to buy off.” Isabela heaved a sigh, going to pocket a few dwarven coins before Sidonie shook her head and relieved her of it before it could disappear completely. “No.” 

“Alright. Fine.”

“Any news of that relic.”

“Not yet,” Isabela replied simply. “You’ll be the first to know when I do hear anything.” Sidonie gave a small nod, then shifted beyond the pile of treasure Bodahn was cataloguing with Sandal’s help. The sooner they could sell it, the better. She needed that coin quickly.

There was the sound of the door opening, and both of them looked up to catch sight of Varric letting himself in. He was brushing off his coat with a sense of purpose as he crossed the threshold to join them, examining the treasure a moment before glancing to Sidonie.

“News,” he said simply. “Someone’s been asking about us.”

“Templars?” Sidonie said quickly, concerned and feeling a rush of panic. He shook his head quickly.

“No,” he reassured her quickly. “No, not Templars. Wardens.” She narrowed her eyes, glancing to Isabela, who gave a troubled little look before Sidonie wet her lips.

“What do they want?”

“To talk,” he said simply. “About the thaig.” 

There was a moment of quiet between them, and then Sidonie drew a slow breath. 

“How did they find us?” She had been careful, even in how she had been selling assets.

“A dwarven Warden came asking around the guild tavern. Someone pointed him my way, said it was Tethras run, and he came looking.” He considered a moment, then sighed. “I think…I think we should take this one up, Hawke, cooperate.” 

“No one should find that thaig,” Sidonie said with a shake of head.

“No,” he agreed, “but it was pretty weird, and I don’t know who else we could tell. This guy…he’s a seasoned Orzammar warrior, and he fought in the Blight.” Sidonie paused, then drew a slow breath.

“Alright,” she finally said. “Alright, fine. Where? When?”

“Tonight,” Varric said simply. “I’ll tell him you’re coming. Come by the Hanged Man? We’ll get a private room.” She gave a small nod, then reached to relieve Isabela of another piece of stolen treasure before the pirate took her glare as a warning and retreated to the door.

“Be there too?” Sidonie called after her and Isabela gave a small nod.

“Alright,” she said. “What about that mage?”

“No,” Sidonie said quickly. “No, he didn’t want anything to do with the Wardens. We keep him safe and he keeps us safe.” Varric gave a nod.

“Blondie’s out then.” Sidonie nodded, then glanced back. Varric followed Isabela towards the door.

“You be alright on your own?” 

“Yeah,” Sidonie said softly, and gave him a glum little sigh, worried but unable to do anything about it. She didn’t like this news. “Yeah.” He gave her a dubious look, recognizing her hesitation, but let it go. Instead he reached to push open the door as Isabela slipped out past him. 

“See you tonight then, Hawke. And be careful.” She glanced to him, then gave a small nod.

“And you, Varric. And you.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric and Sidonie meet with a Grey Warden; Merrill receives a delivery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: None
> 
> Chapters will update at least once monthly from here-on-out. :)  
> Enjoy <3 - HR

There was a strength to going in blind, Varric thought as he made his way through the chairs towards the back room of the tavern. It meant you were more aware of things going wrong, taking stock of everything going on. But anyone worth their salt knew damn well who was sitting in that room, at least anyone worth their stones, as it were, because Oghren of House Branka was the husband of a Paragon, and even the idiots that made up the Surface Kalnas knew that. 

He was also a Grey Warden, and how that had happened, Varric would love to learn, if primarily for storytelling purposes. On the whole, Oghren’s reputation preceded him, and he knew that he was dealing with a disagreeable man, who found himself at the bottom of a bottle more often than on the end of a darkspawn charge, though he was apparently also one of the Heroes of the Fifth Blight, or so the rumors went, and that had to count for something.

When he had been informed that Oghren of House Branka was looking for him, he had laughed, in all honesty, and not from amusement. He knew Bartrand had borrowed money and gotten into a bit of trouble for it, going as far as to pawn off his family’s signet ring for coin to help fund the damn thing. His first thought was that the bastard had gotten them deep in debt to a Paragon. But it occurred to him after some discussion that this man was more interested in the thaig they had found. 

Varric had not told a soul about the thaig’s location himself, and he had tried to buy off anyone who might say, though he had been unable to find everyone who had gone on the expedition to buy off in the first place, and as such news still might have leaked out. Or had, rather, since Ohgren of House Branka was there knocking. People did know it was down there, since they had not been alone on that expedition, but he was hoping those who had made it back didn’t know just what had been found there. Or rather, he hoped no one would go looking again. 

A Grey Warden, though? Now there was someone who might be interested in that thaig for entirely different reasons. He supposed on some level he could understand the curiosity. A group that dedicated its time to uncovering the secrets of the Blight in the Deep Roads might well find such a discovery fascinating for its own reasons.

Except, they were shit out of luck, all things considered. There hadn’t been a single darkspawn in the place. If there was one place in the Deep Roads the Wardens were not needed, it was that weird thaig, and it was not in Varric’s interest to go digging it up again.

The question remained how they had known. The most likely of options was that despite his attempts to buy their silence, somebody had talked. But if someone had spoken up, then word had traveled fairly quickly. The Wardens coming to meet with them now seemed haphazard at best, as well. Oghren seemed an odd sort to send on a fact-finding mission. They seemed ill prepared for such things.  
But with all that said and done, it was an easy enough thing to find out who had been funding and fielding expeditions of late, tracing that back to Varric and Bartrand, and by extension Sidonie Hawke, and then follow the leads. In truth, the trip to the strange thaig had been only one venture funded by Tethras coin. They had been involved in the Amgarrak work with House Dace, and since the election of King Bhelen, House Dace had found themselves doing particularly well indeed, because their surfacer contacts had given them an edge over a large portion of new business deals coming from the relaxation of centuries’ old dwarven policy. So, he supposed, if there was an expedition one needed to trace back, House Dace had a fair few contacts, and a number of those trails of information led straight to his door. That made the most sense. But it was hardly the only way that someone might have followed this back to him, especially given who was asking.

His initial thought was that maybe they had in fact found Blondie, that the information had come from a Grey Warden directly. But the mage knew nothing of this meeting, or else he would be there himself. In any case, Anders hated the Deep Roads almost as much as anyone, and he was avoiding the Wardens as a point. Instead of chumming it up with old pals, he was holed up in Hawke’s basement. That made it fairly apparent that he was not the source.

Varric reminded himself to ask why exactly Sidonie had allowed for that arrangement. As far as he knew, the two did not get along, not well enough to cohabit at any rate, and it seemed a danger in more ways than one. Varric was not entirely sure how he would go about bringig that one up though. ‘Hawke, just wondering why you’ve got an abomination in your basement?’ An unlikely conversation at best. He supposed, though, given the mansion Sidonie was occupying let out right at the doors to Anders’s Darktown clinic anyway, that there was barely a difference between being neighbors and being roommates. This way, the downstairs passage was sealed, and guarded by a Warden no less, who was well loved as a healer among the inhabitants of Darktown, and indebted to Sidonie anyway, at least in some sense. The fact he might go off the wall at any moment was a concern, but considering everything else strange in Kirkwall, having an abomination in the basement almost seemed par for the course at that point.

Perhaps he was best not mentioning it at all. 

He pushed his way through into the backroom, Sidonie in tow, and his gaze fell on the Grey Warden he was there to meet. Oghren had a short mop of inordinately fluffy hair in a red so deep it could be called stereotypical to the story. He had no beard, though he was sporting a pair of braided mustachios that suggested he was damn well sure his part in this tale was to be the dwarf. Varric would have smirked if the man didn’t have a look to his eyes that spoke of having seen far too much, like any good warrior of course. He was sitting at the table alone, and the only thing that was missing was a mug of lichen ale and a good few battlescars that spoke of heavy campaigns. It was noteworthy on its own. A few more touches, he thought, and it could almost be considered poetic. 

He shifted a little into the room and the warrior looked up. Sidonie, at his back, was silent. 

“Bout time you nug-humpers got here,” Oghren said in a gruff voice. “Been waitin’ all day.” Sidonie raised an eyebrow. Varric took it in stride. Not so different from Bartrand then, he supposed. Instead he crossed to claim a chair, and leaned back a bit in his seat, lacing his hands together over his chest. 

“Well excuse us.”

“Excused.” This reply was as gruff as the first statement, but it flattened any pervading tension away easily enough. 

Sidonie crossed her arms. She didn’t sit down. Varric didn’t need her to. Instead he took advantage of the silence a moment. Silence brought answers, he found, especially from men like this Oghren. But more importantly, the man had the look of a Berserker, and it was best not to antagonize him overly much. So instead, he simply settled, until Oghren himself broached the subject.

“Been looking for you,” he finally said. “Wanna know about a thaig.” 

“Surely,” Sidonie said in a flat voice, “when it comes to thaigs, you’re far better acquainted with them than a pair of surfacers.” Oghren shook his head.

“If it was just me, I wouldn’t care, but it isn’t. I’m here looking into something for the boss, and that means no leaving until I have the information I need. Commander wants to know about the thaig you found.”

It was strange to consider such a man taking orders so…easily. Oghren did not seem the type to settle into such a hierarchy without causing a fuss, and that meant this Commander was someone who had earned his respect. There could only really be one. Varric knew the stories the same as anyone. This Commander was the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, then, the one the stories from across the sea was labeling the Grey Queen. Potential there, at least, and the sort Varric knew how to leverage. He exchanged a glance with Sidonie before giving Oghren a small smile.

“We won’t be speaking a word,” he said, “until you tell us how your Commander knew.” Oghren gave a nod. Fair was fair. He leaned forward, propping his arms on the table and considering them both with a squint. 

“Commander’s seen more of the Deep Roads than any damn Duster in Orzammar. She’s had her eyes and ears open for any news of strange artifacts for awhile now. Word started spreading about that Bodahn Feddic and his son were looking to move some particularly special goods. Commander has contacts, and they spread the word.” Of course. The story cleared up some of the confusion at least. Varric had paid off those that knew of the thaig’s location, and Bodahn of all people was not going to sell that location to anyone, which meant the Grey Wardens didn’t actually know where the thaig was, merely that it existed. Bodahn had to tell some of the story to get the price he was turning in on those goods, and that story was bound to pique the interest of anyone with an ear to the ground, but just what that story was was difficult to say. Grey Wardens looking for strange anomalies in the Deep Roads would certainly perk up a bit at the news though. He cursed himself for overlooking the detail and then settled into a quiet scowl a moment before wetting his lips. 

“So, what is your interest in this?”

“All of it,” was the reply. “Location, the story, everything.” At least it was blunt and to the point.

Varric’s initial reaction was a straight-up refusal. Sidonie looked equally as dubious of the entire prospect, from where she hovered over the table, still with her arms crossed. But then, after a moment or two, she shifted. Her gaze, deep and dark as ever, fixed on the Grey Warden, until she finally said in a quiet voice, “Alright, but there are conditions.”

Varric narrowed his gaze, but said nothing. Sidonie shifted her weight to the other foot before pacing slowly around the stone table, letting her hands slide free so her fingertips could trail across the stone engravings as she considered. 

“Name your deal first, then I decide,” Oghren finally said. It was fairly obvious that this was a man who detested the business of business, from the sharp scowl on his face and the way he looked unimpressed with any haggling over terms. Likely, as the husband to a Paragon, he was used to getting what he wanted when he wanted it, and that, frankly, was that.

“I want to know what interest the Grey Wardens have with that thaig, first,” Sidonie replied. “And I want to know what you’ll do with whatever you find.” Oghren gave a sniff, scowling his disapproval before finally pushing back from the table.

“Do with it? Bleeding rock-licker, we’ll fight the Blight, that’s what.” He grimaced a moment, then shifted. “This may come a surprise, but the Blight doesn’t end just because someone lops off the Archdemon’s head. We had another problem right on its heels, and there will be more. Do you have any idea how much has been lost in the old thaigs? We’re looking for that, things that will help us study the blight, make some sense of it, any of it.” He leaned a bit to one side in his chair, glaring her down. “This thaig is old, and weird. Old and weird is exactly what we need if we’re going to actually make a difference here. We’ve been fighting for almost a thousand years. Time to change the plan. The Commander has been looking anywhere she can for information on old and weird shit down in the Deep Roads, and that’s what we’re doing here. Or that’s what I am doing here.” 

“So there’s more of you?” Varric said curtly. He seized the moment while he could. Oghren just gave him a flat look.

“Course there’s more. You think the Commander would just send me on my own? Ha!” Oghren pushed himself up. “Look, whatever scary things you found down there, we’ve seen worse. There’s darkspawn that can think, can plan, all on their own with an Archdemon now. The game is changing. One old thaig isn’t going to scare me.” Varric glanced to Sidonie who pursed her lips a moment.

“It won’t help you,” she said simply, “and I don’t think you’ve seen anything like this before.”

“Try me,” Oghren barked, eyes narrowing to slits in his face. Sidonie simply met the look head on.

“Demons, rock wraiths, and strange forms of lyrium,” she said simply. Oghren sniffed.

“Sounds perfect. When do we leave?” Sidonie gave a disgruntled sigh. Varric understood. He didn’t like this much better than she did. No one should find what remained in that thaig. Just because the rock wraith had been defeated didn’t mean that the Profane were gone. They remained, lingering, as did the demons, and the state of the Veil down there…

“Alright, let’s just hold on a minute,” Varric said shortly. “We didn’t agree to anything yet, especially not going down there.” Not every dwarf liked caves. 

“I’m not going back,” Sidonie said hurriedly, her face set. “If the Wardens are so interested, they can take a look themselves, but if I ever go into the Deep Roads again, it will be too soon.” 

“Bah!” Oghren pushed himself up to standing, leaning on the table, which was a tad to short to really be imposing. For a moment Varric just gazed him down, and then he raised his chin, eyebrow lifting a moment.

“Warden, I think we can come to some sort of agreement.” He felt Sidonie tense a little. 

“Varric, can we discuss this a moment?” she said curtly. He sighed and then glanced to her a moment.

“Alright.”

“No,” Oghren interrupted. “Look, I’m here for the Queen of Ferelden. You’re Fereldan. Give me the information and we’re done. If you don’t want to go then we won’t go.” Sidonie scowled. 

She was about to give a reply when the door to their private room opened, swinging inward, and Oghren paused at the sight of whoever had entered. For a moment he just stared, and then he gave a short sniff.

“Bleedin nughumpers, so you are here,” he said after a moment. Varric glanced back and caught sight of Anders staring at them from across the room. Brilliant, the last person they wanted there. 

“Oghren,” Anders greeted simply. “You smell as fresh as ever.” Oghren gave a low chuckle as Anders crossed to join them, eyes flickering briefly to Sidonie and Varric before he looked back to the dwarf. “I came here looking for Hawke, but it appears to be a morning for odd news.” He did not look impressed, but there was a fond little twitch at the corner of his mouth, and Oghren nudged him with his fist. 

“Commander’s been worried about you.” Anders sighed.

“Yes, well, there’s not much I can do about that. She told me I could go, and so I went, for everyone’s sake.” Oghren snorted and then shook his head before glancing back to Varric and Sidonie. Anders sighed. “What is going on here?” 

“These two know the location of a thaig,” Oghren said, “and I want to know where it is.”

“Oh no,” Anders said simply. “Oghren that thaig won’t help Eideann. It’s a deathtrap, and if she goes down there…” 

“She won’t be going. Lieutenant and I are going, and some new kid. We’ll look about the place, see what we think,” Oghren said simply. Anders shook his head. 

“It won’t be that easy, Oghren. Kirkwall is…there’s a lot more going on here. It isn’t safe for you to be here, and it isn’t safe for Eideann’s people to be here. Whatever she hopes to find down there, whatever she thinks she’ll get, there’s nothing from the Architect. It’s all dwarven weirdness and ancient magic down there, and none of Tevinter. What’s more, there’s no darkspawn.” For a moment Oghren narrowed his eyes, then he raised his chin.

“No darkspawn,” he said musingly. “Sounds more than useful.” Anders sighed.

“I’m done being a Warden,” he said shortly. “I’m not helping.” He gave a cold stare at the dwarf, challenging him. Oghren scoffed.

“Yeah yeah, when the dreams come for you, you’ll be back. You never stop being a Warden,” he muttered, before waving him away and turning his gaze back at Sidonie and Varric. “If there were no darkspawn in that thaig, something kept them out. Eideann has a sword that repels the Blight. If it’s similar, if they’re linked…well that’s worth knowing.” Sidonie sighed, looking between Varric and Anders a moment.

“This information is dangerous,” she said simply. “There’s…a strange form of lyrium out there, and a lot of rock monsters, and most of the thaig is sealed.” Oghren smirked.

“I know a mage who can do something about that,” he said simply. Varric just sighed, tired already of mages that could do something about that. He had the distinct impression the other dwarf was not talking about Blondie. 

He scowled, then said simply, “Fine, but in exchange, a guarantee. You don’t give out this information. You keep it to yourself. And if it leaks out, we know who to blame. And we want help. We’re trying to trace down anything about this red lyrium, so if you hear word of it elsewhere, we want to hear about it.” Sidonie gave him a quiet scowl, but Varric just shook his head at her. “If anyone can sort this out,” he told her, “it’s Wardens. And better them than us.” 

“Fine,” Sidonie said, and then nodded before glancing warily to Oghren. “But that’s it. I don’t want to hear from them again…” Oghren gave a snort and a cursory glare before letting her retreat from the table. Anders gave Oghren a small nod, and the other man smirked.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he grinned. “You owe me a drink.” Anders just gave a sigh then glanced after Sidonie before giving Varric another nod and crossing to join her. Varric watched them slip out through the door and then looked back to Oghren again. The Warden watched him a moment before sighing himself and leaning forward on the table, holding out a hand for Oghren to reclaim his seat. 

“Well then, looks like it’s up to me to give you instructions,” he said shortly. “Now, let’s see where to begin.”

***

Sidonie was not well pleased to have Anders trailing along in her wake. She was aware that he was there, but she avoided giving him attention a moment, uncertain what he wanted, why he would be looking for her, or how much trouble it would cause. She was grateful to him for his help in the Deep Roads, and for his help controlling her magic. But she found him a dangerous entity too, someone who dragged her into trouble far too often for her liking, and she had people she needed to protect. Worse, she was more obvious now. Ever since they had arranged to regain control of the estate, she had been more noticeable, and that had come with its own problems. She did not need him causing more, but where Anders went, problems followed in her experience. She was not certain she could handle that quite so much.

But at last, at the door to the Hanged Man, she had to pay attention to him, because to just let the door fall back in his face would be rude. So she glanced to him with a sigh. 

“What is it you want, Anders?” He considered her a moment, then drew her hurriedly out into the street and then off to one side to speak secretively.

“I’ve had some news about the Templars, and maybe you know more,” he said. “We’re seeing more and more Tranquil. Some of those are Harrowed Mages.” 

Sidonie narrowed her eyes. 

“Anders, I can’t be involved in this. My brother is with the Templars now, and I had to run to the Deep Roads to hide. I’m still paying people off for their silence.” She was lucky, for the moment, for Kirkwall’s general state of corruption that such a thing was even possible. It had been a lot of the coins from the thaig, ancient relics and the like, all of it going just to keep herself safe, to keep people who might know things quiet. Anders scowled.

“I know,” he said softly. “And I’m grateful for the help you have given me. I’m not here to get you into this.” She doubted that but gave him a quiet look.

“What then?” 

“Just keep an eye out, let me know if you hear anything? Don’t go looking for trouble, but you’re in Hightown now, and there’s Templars and soldiers alike up there. They visit the Chantry, and walk around the market. If you overhear anything, or you see more Formari than usual at the stalls…just…get word to me? Please? You can go places I can’t.” 

She wanted to say no. She struggled a moment before finally giving a soft sigh. And then looked to him, expression flat and tired.

“Fine. But that’s all I’ll do.” She had to do something. Maybe mother might hear some things from Carver or – No. At the thought of Carver she felt a flicker of anger. 

It was the only reason she agreed, really. She felt like Carver’s betrayal meant she had to do something, to counterbalance him, to prove that he did not speak for her, and to make it right the things he was choosing to do.

She pushed aside the flicker of anger, and then sighed. 

“Just...be careful,” Anders said softly. There was a momentary pause where Sidonie almost replied, but then they were interrupted by a shout. A group of me were hauling something massive up from the bazaar. It was some heavy cargo, being hauled up on rollers, and not precisely under control. Sidonie and Anders took a step back together to stay out the way, and watched as they hoisted up the last of the steps and then along towards the slums. 

“Wonder what that is?” Anders said curiously. Sidonie scowled, and then watched as they rolled it along the paving stones before turning the corner past Uncle Gamlen’s house and off in the direction of the Alienage. 

“Something for one of the elves.” 

“Did you feel it though?” Anders said softly. Sidonie gave a small nod.

She had felt it alright, the pulsing, aching sensation of lyrium somewhere inside that package. She drew a slow breath, then motioned for him to follow. 

“Best go look.”

“It isn’t right,” he said, but took off down the street to investigate further. “It feels…off…”

“Like the red lyrium?” she asked him. He gave her a sidelong glance before a little shake of head and a shrug. She did not know either. The sensation was not strong enough to tell.

They followed the workers as they hauled the crate along on its rolling wheels until they turned into the Alienage proper and began the descent down the steps towards the Vhenadahl. Sidonie narrowed her eyes a moment before following. And there, across the square, stood Merrill looking haphazardly out of place in her Dalish garb, waving to the crew of elves shifting the crate and directing them to her front door. 

Sidonie watched a moment before exchanging another curious look with Anders.

“Do we disturb her?” He gave her a quiet look, brow raised, indicating he definitely believed the answer was yes.

“Blood mage mail? Something that big is important. We should at least find out what.” She sighed, with a warning look to him for speaking the words aloud, and then slipped down the rest of the steps. As she made her way about the box, and Merrill caught sight of her and then Anders at her side. 

“Hawke,” she greeted, looking a bit surprised. “I didn’t think to see you here.” The Dalish cadences rolled off her tongue as she waved the workers through her door. “You’ve come by at an interesting time.” Her gaze flickered to Anders next. “Hello, Anders.” He sighed. One of the workers called to Merrill who turned a moment and directed them back through towards the back room with the box and to place it up on end. 

“I’ve been waiting for this to arrive,” she said excitedly, glancing back to Sidonie. “Come in and see.” Her eyes were shining and bright as she motioned for them to follow her inside. 

As the crew slowly worked to unpack the contents of the crate, it was revealed to be a great mirror stand, which Merrill directed them to set up in the corner. The glass was shattered, shards of it peppering the bottom of the box. 

“Careful you don’t cut yourselves,” Merrill said in her usual chipper manner, and then when the workers had finally finished and headed for the door she waved Anders and Sidonie over to see for themselves what it was. 

The mirror felt off. Sidonie realized it was the source of the strange lyrium sensation. It gave her a bit of a headache. Worse, it was still strange, not pure lyrium, and that put her on edge.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Merrill exclaimed, standing before it and peering into the glass. 

“It has no reflection,” Anders said simply. “And it’s cracked.” Merrill let the comment slide.

“I’ve spent the last few years restoring this,” she said with a hint of accomplishment. “One of my clan found it in the Brecilian Forest, we think.” That next statement came with a note of sorrow. “Poor Tamlen. We never found him. Just the shattered pieces of the eluvian.” Sidonie narrowed her eyes a moment. 

“What’s an eluvian?” she asked a moment, narrowing her gaze at the mirror. If there was a word for such a thing, then it had a purpose, and if it had a purpose she wanted to know what it was, and why this one was in Kirkwall. Merrill gave a sigh, glancing back to them over her shoulder.

“Long ago, the elves had a kingdom. An empire that covered Thedas. And every city had an eluvian. The mirrors let them communicate across their empire. But I don’t know how, exactly. My people have lost so much. We know almost nothing of the days before Arlathan. This is a piece of our history.” Sidonie narrowed her gaze at the lyrium mirror, and Anders shifted nervously beside her.

“What are you trying to do with it?” Sidonie’s voice was laced with suspicion as she circled slowly about the standing cracked glass, examining it warily like at any point it might flicker to life.

“At first, I just wanted to find Tamlen,” Merrill told them. “But it’s been too long. Tamlen is probably dead by now, if he wasn’t already. But still, I know it can help my people. I can at least recover this one small part of our heritage.” It dawned on Sidonie for a moment then just what she was looking at. It was broken, yes, but it had come from the Brecilian Forest down in Ferelden. And that meant Merrill had been working on it some time, and that Marethari could likely feel the same sensations that Anders and Sidonie could. She narrowed her eyes.

“This thing is what made the Keeper send you away, isn’t it?” Merrill gave a heavy sigh, her smile slipping, the glint disappearing from her gaze a moment.

“The Keeper wanted me to destroy the fragment I kept. She said our ancestors meant it to be forgotten. But it’s a Keeper’s place to remember! Even the dangerous things. We argued. I…left. She’s wrong. This mirror could teach us so much about who we once were!” That was one way of putting it. Marethari had been willing to accept Merrill back if only she had given up on this…eluvian. Sidonie skimmed it with her eyes again. 

One of the clan had gone missing because of that mirror. And now it was in the center of Kirkwall. It felt wrong, the lyrium imbued through the glass making her nerves stand on edge. If that was ancient elven magic, Sidonie was inclined to agree with the Keeper back with Merrill’s clan. It should not be there. If there was anything to be learned from the mirror itself, it was the benefit of a bit of caution. 

“You said the mirror had something to do with Tamlen’s disappearance,” Sidonie said pointedly. Merrill huffed another sigh.

“The ruin we tracked Tamlen to was full of traps and monstrous things, but we found no body. His trial ended at the broken pieces of eluvian.” 

“Don’t you think Kirkwall has more than enough missing people?” Anders said curtly. Merrill gave him a flat look.

“Tell me,” Sidonie said with a flat look, “you didn’t bring the killer mirror to Kirkwall _just_ because it’s pretty?”

“It’s not dangerous, I promise!” Merrill insisted. “I fixed it. Or tried to. With blood magic. The mirror won’t hurt anyone.” With blood magic. Wonderful. Sidonie scowled, turning her face away. Anders drew a deep breath.

“I cringe everytime she says that,” he grumbled. “She has no idea what she’s messing with.” 

Yes, well, two people in that room could be chastised for such a thing. Sidonie pursed her lips. Merrill looked between them a moment before fixing back on Hawke.

“I do. I have it totally under control,” she said curtly. “But it doesn’t work. I’ve tried everything.” 

“That might be for the best,” Sidonie said shortly. “It’s a mirror that kills people, and you’ve brought it into Kirkwall, where all the demons like to come and play.” She scowled. Merrill scowled back.

“I don’t need your help. I’ll fix it on my own,” she insisted. “I’ve got this far.” Sidonie just sighed and glanced to Anders.

“Well, I hope you…work something out,” she muttered, and then gave a quiet look. “Be careful of the Templars, Merrill. People will have seen that arriving, and they’ll be curious.” 

“I can look after myself,” the elf said simply. Anders raised an eyebrow, but left it alone. Sidonie just shook her head. Merrill looked a little hurt and annoyed, and so Sidonie simply put up a hand, and then turned for the door.

“Don’t do anything foolish,” she said simply. Merrill just scowled in her wake.

“I’m not foolish,” the woman insisted. 

Perhaps not, but she definitely wasn’t thinking straight. That mirror was hurting Sidonie’s head, and the quicker she left, the better.


End file.
